Time
by princessmelia
Summary: So much had changed. Death, destruction, and disaster were swirling around them. What was he supposed to do? A reflection on Fitz post Episode 17 "Turn, Turn, Turn." Tag to 1x17. Character exploration.


_**A/N-** Based on laangol's post on tumblr._

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It would be a mess. He knew it would be. He had been there when the bullets had ripped through the plane, unlike Simmons. He wondered if she had entered her room yet, but as he turned and looked he noticed everyone else had already gone into their respective rooms to see what had been damaged. It was only him that couldn't seem to open the door.

Taking a deep breath, he pried it open and stepped inside.

Disaster. War zone. Those were the words that flitted through his head as he gazed about the small bunk. It seemed almost nothing was left untouched. Bullets were lodged into the walls, his cabinets, anything and everything. But there was really only one thing he wanted to make sure was all right, and he didn't see it where it should have been.

Moving closer to his bed, Fitz finally found it lying on the ground. It must have landed there during the firing. After picking it up, Fitz sat down carefully on his bed, ignoring the shrapnel that was scattered across the sheets.

The object in his hands was the T.A.R.D.I.S. Jemma had bought him after they graduated from the Academy.

"_What's this?" he asked as she handed him a small package wrapped with a bow. _

"_Just a little gift from me." Simmons shrugged before her smile took over her face. "Oh come on Fitz, just open it!"_

_Tearing off the paper and opening the box underneath, Fitz pulled out a small, blue police phone box. The T.A.R.D.I.S. _

"_It's to symbolize the adventures we're going to go on," she explained enthusiastically. Leave it to Simmons to find a symbolic gift for their graduation. Fitz gave her a small grin._

"_Thank you, Simmons."_

A bullet hole was ripped through the top of the box, and Fitz ran his finger over it thoughtfully. Adventures. He'd never asked for adventures, yet there he was. He felt like the object he held in his hand—a shot away from destruction. It was still intact, still whole, but a part was missing.

Because Fitz had killed a man.

If he didn't distract himself, the shots still rang in his head. The weight of the T.A.R.D.I.S. suddenly became the weight of the gun. A shadow on the floor became the outline of the dead man. His dead man. There was definitely something missing, and it was the size of a bullet.

Tears began to pool into his eyes, and he tried to hold them back without luck. He was so tired now. Battered. Bruised. Beaten.

He jumped up suddenly, no longer able to sit still. He paced around the room for a bit before pausing at his door jamb. Perhaps Jemma would be out in the sitting room and he could talk to her—that's all he needed, a good Simmons talk. But when he opened the door, the outer room was still empty.

Sighing wearily, he leaned against the door frame and began twirling the T.A.R.D.I.S. in his hands. It had been a stupid notion anyway. Jemma wouldn't be able to understand, and he didn't want her to. Didn't want her to know what it felt like to end someone else's life—to finish it for them before they could finish it for you or your friend. His hands began to shook at the thoughts, and he took a few soothing breaths before spinning the box around once again in an effort to calm himself down.

The glass was worse on the floor outside of his room. Looking down upon it, he could almost make out his broken reflection among the fragments.

Nothing would ever be the same again. There was no more S.H.I.E.L.D., just a trained group of people trying to stop another equally trained group from taking over the world. Order was gone. Structure was gone. Fitz suddenly missed them both terribly.

Coulson had told him he did right. May nodded her thanks to him. Simmons had said he was brave. He knew what they said was true, but he didn't feel very brave. He felt scared. Fitz had once heard that bravery was not the absence of fear, but being afraid and doing the right thing anyway. If that were the case, then he supposed he was very brave. But logic did nothing to calm his rolling stomach or his beating heart.

Dark times were coming. Darker times. As he looked out over the carnage, Fitz let the memories wash over him. Fears for Jemma; anger at Garrett; panic when he thought he'd never see her face again; tears when he was so convinced they were all going to die; the words he spoke out of his heart; the hesitancy to kill; finding the courage the guts to end a life; the relief when he hugged Jemma, realizing they both were safe. Letting the other memories fall away, he hung onto that last one. Things would be different now, but he was different too.

It was time to be what Jemma said he was: a hero.

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**-princessmelia**


End file.
